Ideals of Not-So-Happy-Endings
by slowlyforgiven
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester live in broken down homes covered in mold in a small town in Pennsylvania with John Winchester,who hates his kids. Castiel, Dean, and Sam's lives are intertwined in the worst and best of ways. Castiel, an outcast who gets bullied meets Dean, another outcast who can see through him and Sam finds a girl named Jess who teaches him about what's right and wrong.


The thing about being hit by your father is no matter how many times he does it, it's still a surprise. Still a new thing, a new hurt that you never thought would happen matter how many times Dad came at me with fists or with books or with whatever he could reach, I still felt a sharp sense of pain in the heart. He's my Dad. He's supposed to take me out to baseball games and let me swing on his arms. He's supposed to make me feel like I'm loved. That was the last thing I always thought before the burning and the stinging sensations took over. That's when my brain had no control over my tears. And when the tears fell from my eyes, more stinging would travel throughout my body from where the belt touched my skin. "Stop crying. Now. "

That made more tears fall out. How could he possibly think that more hits would help? I grit my teeth and took a few breaths in and out. This wasn't helping. This was twisted and messed up. I stood up from the place I was crouched and quickly sidestepped in between the double beds Dean and I shared.

"Now, next time I ask you to clean your room, you'll do it. If you don't what do you think is going to happen?" John was staring at him with these evil eyes. Big and round and almost full of glee. This was a trick, say nothing. Don't say anything. I stared.

"Well, " he gave one hit with the belt, " I am," Hit ," going to," Two hits," make it hurt." He finished with two more. I was shaking, my arms and my legs were on fire and I sat with red marks on my body. He stared with these snarled teeth and it got to me. Got to my brain. I sank to my knees and all the air escaped from my lungs as I released loud screams and choked sobs. I looked up at my Dad. He seemed satisfied and relooped his belt onto his wasted. That was another snap to his brain and he looked down, tears clouding his eyes. There was a faint slam of the door and his screams got louder. After what seemed like infinity of crying, he felt a warm body hovering over him. He flinched thinking it was his Dad, but it was Dean. He bent his knees and looked at me. His eyes seemed so wide with pain. There were some tears in his eyes too as he pulled me to him. It felt like enough, and I started clutching his shirt as I mixed tears and snot and spit all over the soft cotton.

"Dean, why is he doing this to us?" I already knew Dean's answer. That Dad was just trying his best, that maybe we should just do what we are told and maybe then he wouldn't do anything too irrational. 

"Dad's just trying to do his best." Called it. There was snot in my nose and my breathing felt off but I stood upright.

"You always say that Dean. This isn't normal. We can't keep living like rats and taking beatings from him every time we piss him off a little!" Dean winced.

"Well if you stopped purposely messing up all the time maybe it wouldn't keep happening Sam. We both know this room was clean before, what do you expect to happen?" I don't know. Maybe something would click in his head while beating me to a pulp. Something that made him realize that this was wrong. That making me feel this way was wrong. But he hadn't.

"I… I don't know." He heard his voice crack but before the tears could come out, Dean put his arms around me.

"I'm going to straighten things out with Dad. You clean this room up, alright?" I nodded and Dean left.

Sammy was right. This was completely wrong. But what was he supposed to do? What would you do if you were left with two kids and no mother? We were demanding and we always asked for things and it was still a while before I could have a proper job. He couldn't believe he saw Sam like this. Tears and marks covering his body. There was a rage inside of him but he cooled it before talking to his dad.

"Dad." Dammit, it was more of a whisper than anything. He was scared. John could still hit him too. Last week he still had the bruise from where the wrench slammed into his skin.

"Yeah Dean?" Even his questions were harsh and John knew it. The way he always used what they loved most against them. The way he could soothe all wounds by not talking about them. The way the words he were going to stand up for himself with were choked in his throat. That his little brother was only 12 and he couldn't defend himself. That he should ask nicely more often than using his fists. But that didn't happen.

"Dinner'll be ready soon."

John nodded and smiled. He was such an ugly person.I took a deep breath and went inside. As soon as I shut the door, the tears came. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that John Winchester, father of two, got to hit his kids and he had to keep it a secret. He had to hide the bruises and clean up the house when social services showed up. He had to make sure that when he asked about money that John was happy and not drinking whiskey. He had to make sure that Sammy didn't actually convince him to run away with him, just the two of them, fatherless and happy. He had to drive Sam and then get to class and when Julie Bitchface asks him about the scar on the side of his wrists he tells her that it's from fixing his car. Not that he did it to himself. Not that he eyed the medicine cabinet and knew that inside was his way out. Not today, but eventually. The way he walked three miles home everyday because John couldn't bother with a job and without Dean getting one they'd be starving. Not like they hadn't before though. Gasping, I reached down with trembling hands to open a can of ravioli and emptied it into three bowls. While setting it on the table, Sam bounced down the stairs and even though he was hidden, I could hear the deep breaths he took before dropping into the table. The kid looked like a mess, red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. From behind me, the door opened and slammed shut. My father grunted and leaned open to the fridge. John slid into his seat and the beer bottle clanked on the table. Dinner was going to be great.

Words hurt so much. Yeah I get it, sticks and stones and all that shit. But what they don't get is that words never leave you. God knows how many times I've taken a razor to the wrist but they faded. I bled, it stopped, it itched, and now it was a clear line on my body. Those words? They are imprinted into my skin. I can still remember kids calling me names as a kindergartener. A fucking kindergartener. So don't tell me that I should get over it. And don't tell me I should stand up for myself. Like this shitty guidance counselor sitting across me with his polyester suit and his his chipped nails.

"Being a victim is something that you can change, Castiel. Ignoring them or even standing up for yourself will help." I wanted to say fuck you. Fuck you for sitting here and spewing this. Fuck you for telling me that I need to get over this and man up.

"I understand." I nodded. Of course I did. This was his point wasn't it? I can't even tell the guidance counselor that I didn't send in that email telling him I was being bullied. That I wanted to survive these last two years of school before going somewhere far away.

"Alright. Get back to class, Mr. Novak." What a prick. If this is what help is supposed to feel like I'm never going back to that stuffy office again. I trailed my hands against the dirty white walls of the school as I made my way back to class. The pass in my hand kept crumpling and being straightened out. I decided that if I walked slower, maybe I would be able to miss Ms. Roman explaining carbon compounds again. My fingernails grazed at the lines on my arms and my stomach was dropping. I am a loser, I already knew that. But why? Was I that stupid and annoying? So I was really quiet, that didn't mean they had any right. Okay Cas, you are not going to cry at school. Not at this institution they call public education. Don't let them get to you. I took a few shaky breaths and pulled opened the door. Twenty heads turned towards me and only a few snickered. Fuck all of them. I sat in the back and pretended to be interested in my homework while avoiding the stares.

It's not like I had some extremely embarrassing teen angst moment and suddenly I was alone in the world. Nope, it was more like I had shitty friends and then all of them left so I got shittier friends and guess what? I was left again.

I guess that is what I get though. I wish my life could be a cheesy high school movie. You know the slightly awkward guy with his best friend go on exciting adventures together and cause trouble for one day of anonymity. They start by righting all the wrongs, taking revenge on everyone that hurt them. Then they go to the giant party thrown by the stereotypical jock and crash it, doing keg stands even though we have zero tolerance for any kind of alcohol.I then go on to fuck someone popular and leave them, thus making me awesome and destroying my virginity. Imaginary Castiel's reputations sky rockets and I spend my last two years with something to my name.

Instead I'm spending it with the future inmates of America who get their kicks by sending me incriminating messages. Tell me again the various joys of adolescence...


End file.
